Fic: Eight into one does not go
Title: Eight into one does not go
Author: an_english_girl
Genre: humour
Word count: 1015
Author's notes: my first QT fic on LJ! Also posted on FFN under meldahlie (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3579600/meldahlie )
Summary: Costis swung then, to face the attendants. “That is my price,” he said. “You get him to sword training in the morning.” (King of Attolia, chapter 12.)
The King did, indeed, get there. But just how did his attendants manage to achieve it?
Hilarion looked at Ion. Ion looked at Cleon. Cleon looked at Sotis. Sotis looked at Pelles. Pelles looked at Dionis. Dionis looked at Lamion. Lamion looked at Philologos. Philologos looked at Hilarion. And the King of Attolia’s attendants all took a deep breath and collectively held it as Hilarion accepted the inevitable and knocked on the locked door of the king’s bedchamber.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
There was silence from within.
Philologos looked at Lamion. Lamion looked at Dionis. Dionis looked at Pelles. Pelles looked at Sotis. Sotis looked at Cleon. Cleon looked at Ion. Ion looked at Hilarion.
“Supposing he’s not there?” Hilarion voiced their common concern. “Or supposing the-”
No. Nobody was even possibly supposing that.
Everybody looked again at Hilarion - who was the senior of the attendants these days and whose family had always supported the Queen and so might have a hair’s breadth greater chance of keeping his head if what they weren’t supposing was, in fact, true - and Hilarion sighed, and swallowed hard, and knocked again.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
More silence.
“You’ll have to knock harder,” Ion faltered. “He did drink an awful lot of wine last night.” Ion smiled painfully. “Not that loud noises are good for hangovers.”
On this comforting note, the king’s attendants yet again braced themselves, and Hilarion raised his hand once more.
RAT-A-TAT-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-
“Yes?”
Under the din, they had not heard the door unlocking. Bleary-eyed and with robe askew, the King of Attolia stared round at the pack of them. “Yes?” he repeated.
“G-good morning, Your Majesty,” Hilarion gulped out hastily.
“No,” said the king. “It is not good, and it can certainly not be morning yet.”
“It is, Your Majesty,” said Philologos with a moment’s over-confidence at the back of the group. His safety evaporated instantly. The king, who had reached the side of the bed, looked back and raised one eyebrow. The rest of the entourage scrambled out of the way, leaving Philologos in full view.
“Are you sure?” said the king mildly. “Quite certain?”
He looked round at all of them. Nobody spoke, and the king sighed petulantly. “If none of you are certain that it really is morning, and not somebody’s schoolboy prank with your watches, I don’t know why you have come to bother me. Go and find out - come back and tell me later.”
“Your Majesty,” said Hilarion firmly, trying to get a grip on the situation. “It is indeed morning. The dawn trumpets have long since sounded.” He drew back the curtains to demonstrate the point. “And you are due to practise with the, er, Lieutenant Ormentiedes this morning.”
“Ah, Costis,” said the king, hauling the covers back over his head. “He won’t mind.”
“You said you would,” Hilarion objected.
“So I lied?”
“He asked it as a special favour,” Hilarion urged with desperate courage. “Also you were due to speak to the Captain of the Guard at the same time.”
“I have a headache,” the king replied weakly. “Send him to me at breakfast.”
“The, er, lieutenant?”
At this the king emerged far enough to look at Hilarion. “Teleus,” he said. “Tell Costis tomorrow, instead.”
Hilarion gave a pained glance of mute appeal to the rest of the attendants as the king’s eyes yet again shut, and Ion waded daringly into the impasse.
“Your Majesty’s clothes are ready, and your preferred coat is back from the cleaners, and your tunic, and your boots, a-and, er...” His momentum failed as the king remained unmoved. “Er, and would Your Majesty prefer the blue sash or the yellow one?”
One deadly eyebrow rose, although the eye beneath it remained shut. “I thought they were both dirty?”
“Th-they came back from the cleaners with the coat,” Ion gasped out.
The king nodded, and then winced. “That’s good. I should have had to have him executed if he had started stealing the royal wardrobe.” At this moment, Dionis had the misfortune to make a noise putting the boots down, and the king turned towards him. “Have the morning off,” he said, waving one hand. “All of you. One of you can go and tell my wife I said so; warn her I shall be late for breakfast. You know the way.”
Hilarion gulped in horror as everyone once again looked at him. “But - you - Your Majesty - you - can’t mean to say-”
“I could say that I went to bed on the direct instruction of my god and haven’t received any orders to the contrary yet,” said the king. “But that’s a very long sentence with a splitting headache, and I also don’t think my head will take kindly to the precipitant arrival of the contrary. So you could all just take no for an answer and go away.”
“But Your Majesty...” Philologos wailed.
The king opened one eye. “Yes?”
“Hilarion promised you would get to sword training - on his honour.”
The king shut his eye again. “I am sure Hilarion’s sense of honour can stand it - much better than my head.” There was a rather final silence. The king went back to shifting his head to and fro on the pillow with a pained frown.
“Your Majesty,” said Philologos in tones of genuine concern after several minutes. “If your headache is really bad, we could, er, send for Your Majesty’s physician.”
The king snapped both eyes open. “My dear Philologos...” The king stared at him. “Have you been taking lessons from Costis?” He sat up promptly, pushing the bed-covers aside with a groan. “Where are my clothes? My coat? Hurry up! Weren’t you all saying it was late already?”
Three minutes later the King of Attolia led a bevy of startled attendants towards the training ground, all of them still wondering just what had, finally, been said.
~:~:~:~
Author: an_english_girl
Genre: humour
Word count: 1015
Author's notes: my first QT fic on LJ! Also posted on FFN under meldahlie (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3579600/meldahlie )
Summary: Costis swung then, to face the attendants. “That is my price,” he said. “You get him to sword training in the morning.” (King of Attolia, chapter 12.)
The King did, indeed, get there. But just how did his attendants manage to achieve it?
Hilarion looked at Ion. Ion looked at Cleon. Cleon looked at Sotis. Sotis looked at Pelles. Pelles looked at Dionis. Dionis looked at Lamion. Lamion looked at Philologos. Philologos looked at Hilarion. And the King of Attolia’s attendants all took a deep breath and collectively held it as Hilarion accepted the inevitable and knocked on the locked door of the king’s bedchamber.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
There was silence from within.
Philologos looked at Lamion. Lamion looked at Dionis. Dionis looked at Pelles. Pelles looked at Sotis. Sotis looked at Cleon. Cleon looked at Ion. Ion looked at Hilarion.
“Supposing he’s not there?” Hilarion voiced their common concern. “Or supposing the-”
No. Nobody was even possibly supposing that.
Everybody looked again at Hilarion - who was the senior of the attendants these days and whose family had always supported the Queen and so might have a hair’s breadth greater chance of keeping his head if what they weren’t supposing was, in fact, true - and Hilarion sighed, and swallowed hard, and knocked again.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
More silence.
“You’ll have to knock harder,” Ion faltered. “He did drink an awful lot of wine last night.” Ion smiled painfully. “Not that loud noises are good for hangovers.”
On this comforting note, the king’s attendants yet again braced themselves, and Hilarion raised his hand once more.
RAT-A-TAT-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-
“Yes?”
Under the din, they had not heard the door unlocking. Bleary-eyed and with robe askew, the King of Attolia stared round at the pack of them. “Yes?” he repeated.
“G-good morning, Your Majesty,” Hilarion gulped out hastily.
“No,” said the king. “It is not good, and it can certainly not be morning yet.”
“It is, Your Majesty,” said Philologos with a moment’s over-confidence at the back of the group. His safety evaporated instantly. The king, who had reached the side of the bed, looked back and raised one eyebrow. The rest of the entourage scrambled out of the way, leaving Philologos in full view.
“Are you sure?” said the king mildly. “Quite certain?”
He looked round at all of them. Nobody spoke, and the king sighed petulantly. “If none of you are certain that it really is morning, and not somebody’s schoolboy prank with your watches, I don’t know why you have come to bother me. Go and find out - come back and tell me later.”
“Your Majesty,” said Hilarion firmly, trying to get a grip on the situation. “It is indeed morning. The dawn trumpets have long since sounded.” He drew back the curtains to demonstrate the point. “And you are due to practise with the, er, Lieutenant Ormentiedes this morning.”
“Ah, Costis,” said the king, hauling the covers back over his head. “He won’t mind.”
“You said you would,” Hilarion objected.
“So I lied?”
“He asked it as a special favour,” Hilarion urged with desperate courage. “Also you were due to speak to the Captain of the Guard at the same time.”
“I have a headache,” the king replied weakly. “Send him to me at breakfast.”
“The, er, lieutenant?”
At this the king emerged far enough to look at Hilarion. “Teleus,” he said. “Tell Costis tomorrow, instead.”
Hilarion gave a pained glance of mute appeal to the rest of the attendants as the king’s eyes yet again shut, and Ion waded daringly into the impasse.
“Your Majesty’s clothes are ready, and your preferred coat is back from the cleaners, and your tunic, and your boots, a-and, er...” His momentum failed as the king remained unmoved. “Er, and would Your Majesty prefer the blue sash or the yellow one?”
One deadly eyebrow rose, although the eye beneath it remained shut. “I thought they were both dirty?”
“Th-they came back from the cleaners with the coat,” Ion gasped out.
The king nodded, and then winced. “That’s good. I should have had to have him executed if he had started stealing the royal wardrobe.” At this moment, Dionis had the misfortune to make a noise putting the boots down, and the king turned towards him. “Have the morning off,” he said, waving one hand. “All of you. One of you can go and tell my wife I said so; warn her I shall be late for breakfast. You know the way.”
Hilarion gulped in horror as everyone once again looked at him. “But - you - Your Majesty - you - can’t mean to say-”
“I could say that I went to bed on the direct instruction of my god and haven’t received any orders to the contrary yet,” said the king. “But that’s a very long sentence with a splitting headache, and I also don’t think my head will take kindly to the precipitant arrival of the contrary. So you could all just take no for an answer and go away.”
“But Your Majesty...” Philologos wailed.
The king opened one eye. “Yes?”
“Hilarion promised you would get to sword training - on his honour.”
The king shut his eye again. “I am sure Hilarion’s sense of honour can stand it - much better than my head.” There was a rather final silence. The king went back to shifting his head to and fro on the pillow with a pained frown.
“Your Majesty,” said Philologos in tones of genuine concern after several minutes. “If your headache is really bad, we could, er, send for Your Majesty’s physician.”
The king snapped both eyes open. “My dear Philologos...” The king stared at him. “Have you been taking lessons from Costis?” He sat up promptly, pushing the bed-covers aside with a groan. “Where are my clothes? My coat? Hurry up! Weren’t you all saying it was late already?”
Three minutes later the King of Attolia led a bevy of startled attendants towards the training ground, all of them still wondering just what had, finally, been said.
~:~:~:~